Never Again
by Mattmartinisaboss
Summary: "If something is truly important to you… even it's heart-breaking, even if it's sorrowful… you keep on trying and trying, even if you lose your life, you keep on protecting it with these two arms! …Then, even if you die, you leave behind the proof that you are a man… forever…" He was no such man; he was just some brat. A coward. But never again. AU
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Naruto**.** It is a little short, but this is my first fic, so baby steps. Rated M for safety.**

Chapter 1: Waves

Waves were all he had known up until this point. Born on the shore, he grew up on the water. The waves gave him food, and food meant life; the waves were his life...until they were ripped away by the tides made by a single man. The same man who casts a long shadow from his short frame.

The waves were once his family and friends. His home. But all of them were washed away by the tides that he knew so well. The high tide crushed his family against the rocks that lined the shore, and the low tide dragged his friends into the sea. They were once exhausted, but now they were able to sleep.

While the waves once meant life for the boy, now they meant death. So he ran from them. Ashamed and a coward he ran. Ran from his grandfather, mother, and worst of all, his father.

They were all gone now anyways. That was just an excuse. They were gone because he left them.

He was afraid.

"Never again," these two words that he uttered held within them meaning as vast as the very seas from which he came.

Never again would he be afraid. Never again would he run when those he loved stayed behind. Never again would he be weak and worthless. Never again would he let those precious to him die while he did nothing but run away. Never again...never again.

"If something is truly important to you… even it's heart-breaking, even if it's sorrowful… you keep on trying and trying, even if you lose your life, you keep on protecting it with these two arms! …Then, even if you die, you leave behind the proof that you are a man… forever…"

He was no such man; he was just some brat. A coward. But he would bare the pain, the shame, the guilt, with his two arms. And then never again. One day, he would become strong. He would become the man his father believed that he could be. Even if it cost him his life.

* * *

The short man with a long shadow grinned maliciously. Wave was finally his; there was nothing standing in his way. No bridge, no builder, and, best of all, no hope.

Kaiza and his two arms? Shattered. Just like how the hope that he represented.

Tazuna, the bridge builder, birought some of that hope back. But where was he? Blown apart along with his bridge. As his head was severed off his shoulders, so that hope went with it.

Nothing stood in his way. Well almost nothing. Just two loose ends that needed to be dealt with.

"Sorry demon of the mist, its just good business," though his voice was devoid of any apology or sincerity as he puffed his smoldering cigar, the only light in the streets of Wave, sans the stars. It was a perfect night; a new moon to mark a new leaf turned over by the Gato Corporation. And like so many of the pages before it, this one was soaked in blood.

The two loose ends stood there motionless, haggard in appearance and manner. The battle they fought to rid Wave of all hope appearing to have taken its toll.

Gato grinned. It was already over.

Flicking the stub of his cigar away, he grunted and turned to his army of sell-swords and thugs, preparing himself for the show.

The moment the butt of his cigar touched the dirt of Wave's main road, heads flew.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The City

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.**

Zabuza Momochi was an internationally well-known criminal, and a traitor to his home village after a failed coup d'etat. But prior to his betrayal, he was widely considered one of the most powerful swordsmen in the world, and was commonly renowned as the "Demon of the Hidden Mist". Now he lay dead, at the feet of a less than humble man of a quite humble build, alongside his partner. His head had been removed from his bare torso, and his once flawless body was now marred by his own blood. The trowel-like knives that had once dotted his frame but hours earlier had since been removed, just after his death, so that they could be reused by the Gato Company. His partner had been left in a similar fashion, headless and marred with blood, at the feet of the richest, and perhaps most powerful man in the entire world, Gato.

Gato grinned. He was right to be happy, it was his day after all. Victory was his, the entirety of Wave Country was his, and soon he would expand his empire onward. No ninja, samurai, or anyone else could stand in his way. As they say, the sky is the limit for Gato. His hard, callous hands gripped a metal device firmly as he inwardly expressed his jubilation. He had worked his way up in life from a pitiful peasant to a meddling merchant to a business king with these hands, and soon he would work his way to become an emperor, with this device as his tool. He fingered the trigger as he pondered his future. Not even a ninja could stand against the sheer firepower of the most powerful instrument of destruction in the world; it was designed specifically to kill them after all.

* * *

The boy had travelled far he knew, but how far he did not. He had passed many villages on his route, though he tried to avoid them, so as to not draw too much attention for fear of capture. He did not know how far Gato's reach spread, and was unsure as to whether or not they would be looking for him, so he chose to not reveal himself unless absolutely necessary, or if he knew for sure that he was safe. Then again, one can never be too careful. While some food was simply scrounged up by hunting and gathering, the boy occasionally ran into town in the dead of night for supplies.

His lone weapon was the trowel-like knife that had been used to murder his grandfather: a kunai. The very one that had been fired by Gato himself just before the ambush that had killed the-according to Gato-overly expensive assassins. Those devices were dangerous, and, if he had to take a guess, were not made available to Gato prior to the hiring of the initial assassins.

Ordinarily, only ninja carried kunai, but now these devices allowed even the weakest of civilians to wield them in a far deadlier fashion. The two ninja that had been hired, and then killed, just as easily were proof of that.

As the boy stumbled out of the dense forest that hung over the land he noticed high walls and the ancient symbol for "fire" emblazoned on the stone. A city.

It was one of the few cities in the entire world from what he gathered from his grandfather, a well-travelled man. Tazuna was the man's name, and he had travelled the entire known world by sea when he was young, before the rise of Gato and long before the boy's birth. He had had many stories to share with the young boy as he lay in bed at night prior to the old man's death. Grand tales of braving maelstroms by the ruins of Whirlpool Country in the far East, navigating the vast deserts of Wind Country in the far West, gallivanting through jungles that lay just beneath Fire Country in the far South, and encountering the rigid samurai in the frigid Northern bounds of Iron country, which lay in the far North.

He sighed. Such memories were bittersweet. While each memory was sweet like candy, each one plagued him with the memory of his grandfathers' corpse still fresh with a kunai capping it off. His hands were still warm, but his open eyes were cold and lifeless. After retrieving the weapon, with a vow to use it to kill Gato, and checking on his father, he had fled from Wave Country as quickly and surreptitiously as possible. And now here he was, at the foot of a city, after nearly a month of running, scavenging, and hiding.

The noise of the place was overwhelming. Even outside of the fifty foot walls that encompassed the city, the hustling and bustling city folk creating such a clamor that was almost deafening to the boy, who was used to the quit and calm of a fisherman's life. Well-armored guards stood ever so stoutly at the front of the gates to the city, the only entrance to the city within the boy's view. The squadron seemed to be made up of seven ordinary soldiers and one commanding officer, who stood with an air that oozes of confidence. While the only physical difference between the commander and his troops was a minuscule pin on his breast, it was clear to the boy who was in charge due to his presence and emanation of power. As the boy watched from a perch on a tree, hidden by the foliage, it became apparent that the guards were not the sole guardians of the gates as flickers of movement atop the walls caught his attention. He could not identify who or what specifically was up there, but he hypothesized that there were archers or even bearers of the device. And as it was a city, he assumed that they could afford such machinery.

The boy had never been in a city before and curiosity now overwhelmed him. While the consequences of him getting caught were great, a life spent drifting as he was without purpose was the lesser evil. After all, if he was too afraid to brave the city, then how could he muster up the courage to face Gato?

Spending weeks in the forest and remaining hidden in towns had allowed taught him how to remain well-hidden, even when a person was looking right at him. The compulsion to move had gotten him discovered many a time, but remaining still while being hidden had proven to be successful, as human eyes tend to seek out movement as much as possible. This technique was more effective in the night, but the shadows of the trees in the forest had served him well. At least against a civilian's eyes. If he encountered a ninja, the boy would be much less confident in his abilities to remain hidden. Nevertheless he resolved to find his way into the city.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: (blah blah blah)**

**Chapters have been a little short so far, but like I said, baby steps. As we go along, the chapters should grow in length. **

Chapter 3: A Rat and Nothing More

The boy had scouted out the gate to the city, and about a mile each way down the wall. From a distance of course. He mostly moved from within the tree-line to remain unseen, but gradually he became bolder with his exploration, often opting to blend in plain sight. Originally this was almost impossible, as the endless traffic of merchants rebuffed him, dismissing him as an orphan or even a thief. And after a few days of unsuccessful attempts to blend in this way, it dawned on the boy that it was his attire gave him away.

While he had nondescript brown hair, brown-almost black-eyes, and fair face, his ragged clothing drew as much negative attention as it would if he was wearing a bright orange sign that read 'I do not belong!' in big, bold letters. So, despite his greasy, ruffled hair and grimy face painted the picture that he belonged, he concluded that the only way to get into the city was to _dress_ as a merchant's kid within a caravan at midday. His marred, rugged features marked him as a traveler, allowing him to fit in with the other filthy nomadic people of trade. His new-newly stolen that is- clothes fit that of a merchant's boy.

Lastly, the midday setting was key-the busiest, bustling time of the day for traders eager to enter the city and sell their goods. The more traffic, the more people, the more likely there are other children fitting his description, and the less likely that someone will care about seeing another stranger. Especially the guards. It is the most frustrating and tiresome part of the day for them, and it is more likely that someone will be passed over-especially an innocent little kid. Besides, if the guards did not expedite the processing of each caravan, then the city would have much less business; which also meant less money in their own pockets.

So, the boy studied for several days in the comings and goings of the merchants: how to act, talk-or rather not to, unless spoken to-and move, so as to draw the least scrutiny without coming off as suspicious.

And so, after over a week of reaching the city, it was time for him to finally get inside.

* * *

All the sounds blended together, shouts and roars, banter and common talk, haggling back and forth. Even in the night the city remained alive and bustling. Different sounds though, crickets added their music to the city song, more pitch differentiation as women squealed and men contributed their own booming laughter. Less sounds than during the day, when they all blurred together in a singular hum. At night, the atmosphere became a majestic symphony-a much more welcoming, though still alien, chord to a small town, fisherman's boy. However, despite his preference in city acoustics, he kept his resolve to enter midday, so as to remain undetected.

The smell in the air was overwhelming for a boy who was used to the smell of oceans and fish. And it was wonderful. All the exotic foods, all of which he could not identify, overwhelmed the sheer stench of people that he had expected. Even the merchant caravans had a decent scent-often of lavender-in hopes of being more presentable to better sell their wares.

However, scent would not be a problem for the boy. He had identified, and then plucked, a couple stalks of lavender in the forest after he had noticed a few days in. Not too much as too stand out, but not too little as to be identified as a street rat, and 'unclean'. Though he hypothesized that once in the city, he would have to drop the merchant boy mask, and take to life in the shadows. If that is what it takes to survive, he would become a street rat.

In fact, the boy decided it would be safer to hide in the city, amongst the masses, as opposed to the outside world, out in the open, waiting to be picked off or caught. He had done well so far in that life, but he did not want to push his luck. Who knows, maybe he would make something of himself in the city, learn how to take down Gato, or more importantly, learn how to defend himself. Not just survive, thrive.

* * *

The city alone, from what he could gather, was larger than the entirety of Wave Country, his motherland, so he could only imagine the sheer vastness of the entire country. Eavesdropping and exploring certainly had their benefits after all, but the information was not always spot on. He had to be careful as to which information was right, and which one was not, as many liked to embellish the truth and make up stories just for the sake of fun or attention.

How long had it been? A week, maybe more? It did not really matter to him enough to keep track-time would keep chugging along, regardless of whether he knew or not. Since his arrival within the walls, being street rat was his calling, and so a street rat he became. There was not much else that he could do after all. Besides, he preferred to work in the shadows and go unnoticed. And as of late, he had gotten used to it. Almost comfortable, in fact.

Initially, he only picked the trash of restaurants and drank from the river that ran directly through the city-which was protected by system of grates that ran through the 8 foot thick solid rock walls, as the boy had found out on one of his expeditions-but as time passed, and owners, guards and general folk took on after him even for such minor offenses as these, he began to become bolder in his food-runs. He realized that if he was gonna be chased anyway, why not go for the better prize? Pretty soon, he became infamous all around the southeastern districts of the city, which he learned was the capital of Fire Country. Of course, with his generic description, almost every street rat in the city that got caught could have been identified as him. Even some of the girls.

Most of the other street rats stayed alone, so as to attract less attention, in addition to the benefits of not having share the spoils. However, there were still some other, usually bigger or older rats who liked to 'hunt' in groups. But they did not hunt the same way. Rather than go to the source and risk a beating, they team up on smaller, more manageable prey, stealing their bounty and taking it for their own. But such was the way of things. The boy's rationalization was that the groups' 'prey' did not deserve their booty if they could not keep it.

He himself had gotten used to city-life, and adapted well to the change in lifestyles. In fact, he could say he was enjoying himself. He had honed his skills in avoiding contact with most people-while stealing as well as steering clear of the Hunters. And as such he could wantonly exploit the spoils of each expedition. Though he never let his guard down.

All five of his senses had been sharpened to a fine point, and he had learned to trust them well after several failed attempts to escape captors. Pain was the best teacher after all.

The scent of a person was unique to them, however the scent of people was just as distinct.

Just by listening, feeling the vibrations of the ground, measuring the distance between steps to judge a person's gait allowed him to tell how big, how fast, and how far away he or she is.

Not only had his vision's range expanded, but the sharpness within that range was like that of an eagle.

His taste? Well, stealing gourmet food from fancy restaurants in the city definitely altered his taste buds after growing up in the center of fishville.

* * *

The boy woke from a dreamless sleep. Slowing stretching his limbs, getting ready for the day ahead.

He never stored his food, always electing to only carry an amount sufficient for a small meal so as not to be weighed down while escaping, and maintaining good health. A fat street rat was a dead street rat after all; not a successful one.

He hopped down from his temporary tree-bed, the soft tap of his feet against the grass was but a whisper in the wind. It would not do to be noisy. A noisy rat was a dead one.

Patterns get you caught as the boy had learned over time after many failed 'nesting' attempts. But so did venturing into unknown territory. He had the scars to remember that too. Now, his territory were a group of trees around the river that flowed through the city, splitting the northern districts from the southern, stretching from East to West.

He never slept in the same tree two nights in a row, and had chosen to stick to the southeastern bank. Prime location for the freshest water, all the while remaining within charted territory in his slowly expanding mental map. While there were bridges connecting the northern bank to the southern, every street rat knew not to be caught dead crossing one. They would be too exposed, and most did not know how to swim. While he did, it brought back bittersweet memories of Pouchy, his father, and his home. But he still stayed on the riverbank, feeling at home along the water.

As he hit the grassy floor he went about getting breakfast. Another nostalgic feeling as he caught his meal: a nicely sized fish. Some old habits die hard. Besides, most restaurants would not be open at this time, and most people would be at home for breakfast. Too risky to try to steal something.

Fires are too flashy for a street rat who wishes to remain unseen, so he had been eating fish raw, but it mattered little to him. He had been doing that his whole life, and a hot meal was not worth exposing his hiding grounds. In the heart of Fire Country temperatures rarely dropped below the point of discomfort, even at night, so there was no need then either. And his periodical recycling of clothes-which were periodically stolen-allowed him to maintain an optimal body temperature.

Occasional washes in the river prevented drawing too much attention by vile smell, but due to his constant presence in the city, he scent was just another part of the masses.

He would never be mistaken for an aristocrat's boy, but he could pass as a merchant's, allowing him to walk the streets almost unhindered and unnoticed. Even those who he had stolen from could not recognize him in a crowd; his generic appearance and clothing saw to that, but that did not mean that they remained completely unsuspicious, so he maintained his distance and stayed with the crowd flow.

The key to success as a street rat was stealth. Stealth does not necessarily mean unseen, but rather unnoticed and passed over. The boy liked to think that he was pretty successful.

After a quick morning dip in the river, he was ready for the day ahead, and took to the streets.

* * *

After a nice, reinvigorating lunch of stolen barbecue pork with rice nabbed from one of the best restaurants in the district, the boy heard heard a large clamor of voices, one trumping them all. As he turned on his perch, and hopped a few roofs over, crouching low to remain inconspicuous along the two story skyline, he gained view of a large crowd of people in the square, surrounding a wide, wooden platform about four feet off the ground, thirty feet across and several more back. Even from a distance, he could heard the words being spoken with great power to the people. About two hundred yards away, a lone man stood on the platform, chest out, head held high, with a posture that screamed 'leader'.

The man was not a noble, that much the boy knew. His clothing and voice let him know as much, but he also knew that this man knew how to lead. How to get people to follow him. He was charismatic, and the boy doubted that even the nobles would be able to sway the people from him. Not that they wanted to; it seemed that he had gained their full support. They were off to the side of the platform, eagerly listening, nodding their heads. This man had power, and he would make a very dangerous enemy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto...duh**

Chapter 4: The Trigger

"THE TIME TO FIGHT IS NOW!" The man spoke with such conviction and confidence, and the crowd was wildly responding. "WE HAVE BEEN OPPRESSED FOR TOO LONG! WE CANNOT ALLOW THIS TO CONTINUE!"

Again, the crowd roared their approval. But the boy was a little confused. The nobles are right next to the platform and are supporting what the man says with roars of approval. Evidently, the man is not talking about their government in the capital. In fact, such words would be seen as treasonous, yet there were guards _protecting_ this man.

"THE CIVILIAN POPULATION-EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US-IS SEEN AS NOTHING! EVEN THE DAIMYO HIMSELF HAS BEEN WALKED ALL OVER AS IF HE WAS JUST DIRT ON THEIR FEET! AND WE WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!"

Now that had the boy's attention. _Who is so powerful, that even the daimyo has to bow down to? He's most powerful man in the country, right? Does he not rule the entirety of Fire Country? ...does Gato reign supreme here too? But then, why did he say "their"?_

"IS THE DAIMYO NOT RULER OF THIS COUNTRY? IS HIS POWER NOT ABSOLUTE? SO THEN WHY SHOULD THESE _NINJA_ HOLD POWER OVER US? POWER OVER THE DAIMYO? WELL NO LONGER!" The man lowered his voice, but the power in what he said reverberated throughout the square. It could still be clearly heard throughout the entire square. "My brothers, we gather here today in the heart of our nation's great capital because they think they they are better than us. They think we are weaker than them. And we _have_ been weaker than them. What can we do, after all? We are only ordinary men. I ask you, can you breathe fire? Bring terror with but a gaze? Control the sacred elements?! NO! We are mortals! Such power can only belong to gods and spirits! Yet they too are mortal are they not? What right do they have to own such power?!"

Now the boy saw where this was going, as a few men began to bring up boxes to the stage floor. His fist clenched, and his heart started hammering away in his chest.

"They only bring conflict, chaos, and death. The deaths of our mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers. Our cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents. Friends and lovers. All of them gone, caught in their wars and battles. When ninja clash, there are always civilian casualties. Because we are weak, and they are strong. They do not care about us. They refuse to control their powers. BUT NO LONGER!"

His voice had gradually grown louder and louder. By the end of the spiel, he was yelling again. A booming sound that caused the roof that the boy stood on to shake. The men began opening one of the crates, pulling out its contents, but they shielded it from the crowd's eyes with their bodies.

"We would not have war if they were not here. We would be able to live in peace and prosperity alongside one another. With the imbalance in power gone, there would be no fear of being the lowest of the low. There would be no need to lust for power. There would be no more greed. All their petty wars are caused by greed. But all greed is caused by an imbalance in power, someone being better than another. Without them, all would be equal! Without them, all will have peace! Without them, WE WOULD BE FREE!"

Murmurs arose from the crowd, the boy just able to make out, _Yes, but how? As he said, we are just human. Civilians no less. How are we going to get rid of all the ninja in the world? _The men, still concealing the mysterious object, walked over to the speaker, handing it to him behind his back.

As the man slammed the object into his other hand, "_This_, is what will make all of this possible. All our dreams will become realized! With this, we unearth the root of our problems! With this, we will trigger the events that will culminate in the extinction of ninja. And rightly so, we will call this device, the Trigger,"

The crowd went wild. Bystanders could have sworn that they were foaming at the mouth. But the boy almost leapt off his perch. _LIAR, LIAR! _He screamed inside of his head, tears streaming down his face, his mouth curving into a angry snarl. _Ninja did not kill Grandpa! They did not kill Mom, or Dad! That THING did! _

Suddenly a shingle came loose and his foot went with it. His whole body almost followed, off the roof. It clattered down the ramped shingles, shattering on the ground twenty feet below.

He froze. Anymore movement would draw attention to anyone's peripherals. He calmed himself. It would not do to be noticed now. Especially not now that they had pulled out an deadly accurate, ranged weapon that could be fired at any time.

* * *

Hours later, the boy sat in his a tree near the center of the city, a few hundred yards from the square, processing the information he had just gathered.

Not only were Triggers now being widely distributed among the civilian population, but the whole damn thing was being funded by the Diamyo!

Apparently, they were initially only meant for black market selling, which explained how Gato had acquired his own, but they were one of the most expensive things out there. Someone had gone straight to the Capital to offer the Daimyo steeply discounted Triggers if he bought them in bulk, all the while suggesting to use them to take away power from the major ninja village, called the Village Hidden in the Leaves, or in the ancient language, Konohagakure. The ninja village was supposed to be used for protection of its mother country, or more specifically the Daimyo. But instead, the ninja had been abusing their power, acting like a parasite to the Capital and taking much of the money and influence.

In turn, all merchants headed towards the Hidden Leaf were given whole crates of Triggers to distribute amongst the civilians there.

_"The reign of ninja is over! We will have peace!"_

Suddenly, the levity of the matter smashed over him like a ton of bricks And he felt fear crawl up into his heart.

* * *

Guards, armed with Triggers, had been swarming the Capital's palace ever since the end of the speech. Trigger-fire could be heard throughout the courtyard.

The boy had run along the walls, roofs and trees surrounding the palace trying to find the ninja who once guarded the Diamyo. The Twelve Ninja Guardians. Not all were ninja, and the few that were not could be found turning on those who were.

The boy kept searching frantically, as each place he searched he was too late to give any kind of warning. Each time he reach the source of Trigger-fire and yelling, the ninja was already dead or dying, with numerous kunai dotted all over their bodies, swords in their backs, and heads severed from their torsos.

Though he himself was a civilian, he saw just how much damage those Triggers could do. He knew from personal experience that even though they were meant to kill only ninja, they could just as easily be turned on other people, namely criminals. But more specifically, all of the street rats would be slaughtered. Him included. Not only would they be hunted down one by one, but each time they would go to steal something, if they were even slightly detected, there would be no escape. Just the jerk of a finger, and it would be over.

The only relatively safe place would be alongside ninja. Finding one of these guardians would be his best chance for survival, if he could warn and escape with one that is. Not guaranteed survival-Triggers were meant to kill them after all-but they were the best shot he had.

* * *

The boy slid down the slope of a roof above an open courtyard, coming to a stop just before the ledge. The courtyard was the quietest, and most isolated area in the entire palace. The Trigger-fire had all but faded away in the distance, and the tranquility of the garden was a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding it. Four stone walls ten feet high encompassed the green, with an open archway at one end, just a few feet out from the main building of the palace. It was longer than it was wide, with sakura trees along the perimeter, open in full bloom. At the far end, was a pool of crystal clear water, that formed a crescent with a peninsula of grass.

The sight was so peaceful and entrancing that the boy had almost forgotten why he had come: the two men sitting at the crescent with a plain wooden shogi board between them.

One was in ninja garb, headband and all.

But the pitter patter of footsteps warned him of the impending storm. Twenty meters from him and closing. A squadron of seven. He was too late.

The men looked up with a start, confused by all the commotion.

"Commander, what's wrong?" inquired the ninja, slowly rising to his feet. He was a gruff looking man, with a full, but slightly scruffy beard, and a lightly tanned face that belied his Fire Country origins, The man next to him-a monk, as identified by his bald head, and white and navy robes-rose with him. The grey sash at their waists with the ancient word for fire etched on denoted their allegiance to the Twelve Ninja Guardians

Ignoring the ninjas question, the soldier at the head of the formation spoke, "Chiriku, step away from the shinobi," It was a command that had force behind it, to be accepted without question. However, the monk narrowed his eyes, eyeing the metallic device with scrutiny, noting the four inch barrel that protruded from its body. It had a trigger at the bottom of the body, with a handle attached just below that, and the last couple inches of a scroll dangled from the midsection of the body.

"Commander, what is this?"

The monk's inquiry was about the weapon, but the commander took out a scroll instead, tossing it to him. "Orders from the Daimyo," He pointed his Trigger at the ninja.

"And-"

* * *

The boy knew that he had to do something now if he wanted to survive. That ninja was his way out, and without him, he would be picked off within the week.

The guards were lined up, commander at the head, and the rest fanned out behind him, three on either side. Each was in navy samurai armor, with red underlying robes-loose, but solid, protection. They all had the ancient word for fire emblazoned on their chests, directly above their hearts. Each was armed with a sword at their side and a Trigger in their gauntleted hands.

The boy got into position without a sound, directly above the end guard on his side, pulling out his lone kunai knife.

"And-"

But the command was cut off. The boy jumped. Landing on the end guard's shoulders, driving the kunai just in the crux between the man's right collar bone and shoulder blade, right into bottom of the man's unprotected neck. He missed the armor by a hair's width. The boy leaned back, using the man's torso as a shield, wrenching the Trigger from already loose hands with his left hand, hanging onto his lodged kunai with his right.

The deadman had fallen to his knees, his torso only held upright from behind by the leaning boy. Trigger-fire lit him up a second later, the stunned squad of soldiers fumbling for the trigger on their weapons. The boy held on, pulling on his own trigger, aimed at the commander first, then spraying across to the way to the last.

It was quick, but bloody. The once beautiful pink blossoms of the sakura trees were now painted a bright crimson. The peaceful courtyard had become a bloodbath.

The boy was shaking behind the kunai filled guardsman, his face now covered in the man's blood. He pulled out his own knife from the corpse, slowly putting it back into its usual pouch along the back of his waist, underneath his shirt. He then collapsed onto his back, allowing the guard's cadaver to fall forward, and promptly became acquainted with the darkness.


End file.
